


Baby’s Wake-up Call

by Michgator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michgator/pseuds/Michgator
Summary: How Baby came alive.
Kudos: 3





	Baby’s Wake-up Call

BABY’S WAKE UP CALL.

I bet some of you are wondering: “How does a car come to life?” After all, it’s just a hunk of metal and wiring. It has no heart, no brain, no soul.

That’s true, and it’s the reason most cars never become aware. But sometimes someone is willing to share their own life. Willing to believe so strongly, care so deeply and put so much of their love into something that it can’t help but to come alive. Such a person is Dean Winchester.

Hi! I’m Baby, and this is my story.

I’m a black ’67 Chevy Impala. I’m sleek, strong, sexy, badass and beautiful, or so my owner tells me. I belong to Dean, and he belongs to me. So does his little...well, YOUNGER, brother Sam.

Now that I’ve had time to look in the rear view mirror, so to speak, I’ve been able to piece together how I became alive. It didn’t happen all at once. It took some time.

In the beginning there were just flashes of sound.

The laughter of children.

A man’s gravelly voice saying, “Stay here where it’s safe, boys. Dean, take care of your brother.”

A child crying and a small boy’s words comforting him. “It’s OK, Sammy. I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

Bits of arguments, make-believe stories and games, the soft breathing of sleeping kids.

And through it all, the music. The classic rock songs that would become the soundtrack of my life.

Next came smells.

Stale food wrappers and spilled soda.

The faint scent of gunpowder and crayons.

The sickly sweet odor of iron and pain that I learned was blood.

Then there were tastes.

The acrid flavor of gasoline and fresh motor oil pumping through my lines.

Soap and wax.

Hot rubber on asphalt that burned in my intake valves.

A starchy french fry lost between my cushions.

The salty wetness of tears.

Soon I started feeling things every once in a while.

The wind of my forward motion streaming all around me. The hot sun beating down on my chassis like an oven. Frigid snow piling up on me that was so cold it stung, or tingling softly against my body as we drove. Raindrops pelting me all over as my wipers kept a rhythmic beat. Mud and dust and bits of gravel thrown up by my tires.

Small feet kicking my seats in boredom or anger. Tiny hands gripping me tightly in fear or frustration. Soft blankets and softer hair nestled on my vinyl seats.

And for some reason, I very clearly felt a small, green toy soldier jammed into my rear ashtray and a few plastic blocks pushed into my heating vent. They rattle quietly whenever the heat is turned on. At first I found this annoying, but now it is familiar and somehow soothing. I didn’t know why these things were important, I just knew that they were.

In time I began to see things.

Two-lane roads, small towns, big cities and rural farms flashed by. Painted deserts, majestic mountains, deep forests. Rolling hills and flat plains, small streams and mighty rivers. All around me was a world of beauty, shining in the light of day or glowing in shaded moonlight.

There were also parking lots at cheap motels and family-friendly diners. Abandoned warehouses, ramshackle deserted houses and lonely remote cabins.

But most important were the people. A rugged, stern man with dark hair and an almost constant scowl, a mop-haired kid with beautiful hazel eyes that usually sparkled with love and trust, but occasionally darkened with rebellion or fear, and in those eyes I saw a soul that was older and wiser than this child could possibly be, this child who had the cutest little dimples in his cheeks whenever he smiled or laughed.

But clearest was a young towheaded boy with piercing green eyes that were normally bright and clear with a challenging look -- and yet were clouded with a sadness that never seemed to leave him. Freckles dusted his perfect little face, and his smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. I was entranced by the play of emotions I saw in him, from mischievous sprite to a demeanor far too serious for one so young. He seemed to slip back and forth from child to adult.

But these were just flashes, brief flickers that startled me into momentary consciousness, impinged on my senses and were gone.

Then one day, I felt something different, something being carved into my rear deck. Clumsy cuts, not inflicted with hate or the intent to harm, but rather made with love, joy and a shared bond. Marks that seemed to burn into the very fiber of my being, like they were branding me as theirs.

As Safety.

As Shelter.

As HOME.

A ragged DW and SW.

And like a vow they had made not only to each other, but to me as well, I came alive!

From that point of ignition it was as if a fire spread through me, permanently opening all of my senses, reaching from my front grille to my taillights. Every part of me awake to the world around me. And at the very heart of that world were these two boys, Dean and Sam Winchester.

I knew then that my mission was to care for these youngsters. Yes, their father was there, but he had a boiling anger inside that seemed to so consume him that he often neglected his children. To be honest, there were many times that his rough treatment of them upset me greatly.

So this became my purpose, my responsibility. To care for Dean and Sam. To do my best to cushion their ride, provide a stable home and comfort them in times of trouble. To protect them from a world that seemed bent on destroying them.

As the years passed, my boys grew into strong, brave, intelligent and caring men. I watched as the bond between them strengthened every day into a love that would hold them together through good times and bad, through joy, pain and heartbreak.

Despite the occasional fights, bullet wounds, knife slices, crashes and an infuriating timeout in a deserted barn in the middle of nowhere, I’ve never regretted being alive for a minute! In fact, I appreciate it even more since I know what it’s like to lose it. Just thinking about that loss scares the hell out of me!

There came a time when Dean no longer cared about me. He no longer loved me or thought of me as home. When he no longer had Sam beside him to remind him of who and what I was to them -- and I died for a while.

I learned later that Dean had actually become a demon, but all I knew then was that I was no longer aware of anything. No sight, no sound, no feelings at all.

Thank God Sam was able to cure him, and together their love brought me back to awareness! I never want to go through that again! Life may be painful and messy at times, but I’m telling you it is worth it! The laughter, the joy, the love all make it something to be treasured and held close.

So that is my story, at least so far. I hope you enjoyed it.

And remember, family don’t end with blood. Sometimes there’s a little oil in it too.


End file.
